Free DarykHunter by Denise A. Agnew Page A

makes you feel something you don’t want to feel?” He leaned toward her, drawing in her clean scent. “Perhaps you’d like me to show you how it can feel to express your needs with an audience?”
    She tilted her small nose upward and speared him with a glower both queenly and annoyed. “Never.”
    That’s it, sprite. Keep telling yourself that.
    Truth be told, he didn’t want their first time together to be in front of any audience. He wanted her all for his own. A softening occurred inside him he didn’t understand. When it came to her, he felt off balance, possessive. In the grip of a longing both staggering and gentle. He should have warned her that he would try to seduce her at every turn. Perhaps not. She’d already rejected his declaration that she was his.
    Mine , the feral call kept echoing in his head. She’s mine.
    He leaned nearer, lowering his voice to a whisper, staring directly into her eyes. “All right, you want the truth? I’ll give it to you. There is a fierce, almost unstoppable need within me to take you to my bed.”
    Her mouth dropped open and the indignation on her face spread into a full-scale glare of a woman filled with scorn. She shook her index finger at him. “You, sir, are the last man I would ever consider giving my body. You couldn’t seduce me.”
    He drew in a deep breath, staring her down, daring her to say anything that might break his shaky control. He wanted to kiss her again, the desire acute and almost painful. “I see. My fingers and tongue inside you does not count as giving me your body? If you think that is not sex, you have a lot to learn. I could take you in the next room and fuck you so hard you wouldn’t be able to stand.”
    He could see the fire rising inside her, knew his words made her angry and aroused at the same time. A flush glowed in her cheeks, making the delicate lines of her face unbearably delightful to him.
    “I know what constitutes sex you…you boorish…” she sputtered, her frustration obviously blunting her ability to speak.
    “You know my name.” He smiled, enjoying the heat that seemed to flow between them even when they argued. His voice lowered to a rasp. “And I’d like to hear you scream it when you come around my cock.”
    She gasped and looked around, apparently afraid their conversation would be overheard. “You bastard.”
    A huge hand came down on his shoulder, and Dane jerked a dagger from his waist holster. He came around with a growl.
    “Whoa! Whoa there, old friend! It is I, Minilos.” The shaggy-haired man standing over Dane smiled down with an amused and genial expression, his grin half hidden by a gold and red thick beard and mustache.
    Minilos Willburi’s generous waistline spoke of indulgence in establishments such as this. His curly and unruly hair, had long ago earned him the nickname of “lion”.
    “Fuck you, Minilos.”
    The hearty man burst out in laughter, throwing his head back and roaring to the low ceiling. Everyone ignored Minilos, used to his boisterous personality.
    “Good to know I’m still your friend, Dane. For a minute I thought you’d skewer me on your dirk.”
    Dane snorted and took another drink. “You’re not my type.”
    Another booming laugh left Minilos’ throat. “How long has it been since we’ve seen you around here? A good month? What have you been doing? Wenching in the Tarrian region? I hear there are ripe women there. Strong and capable who escaped their men long ago.”
    “If there are, I haven’t seen any. Besides, we’re in the Tarrian region. I don’t have to go anywhere to wench with ripe women.”
    Minilos sat down on the bench across from Dane, his too-full tankard sloshing drink onto the large man’s hand. “Too true. It’s boring around here lately. So calm.” The man eyeballed Ketera. “Then again, I see you already have a wench. My apologies, good friend.”
    Ketera’s lips went tight, her eyes hard. “I am not a wench.”
    Dane smiled. “This is